


Ghost Clause

by BarPurple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Contracts, F/M, Fluff, Ghosts, except for the ghosts do they count as magic?, major character illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: "The company hereby promises to pay the undersigned the sum of one million dollars US on the occasion of the undersigned proving the existence of life after death. Accepted methods for such proof are detailed in sub clause A (iii)."It had to be a joke, didn't it? What sort of person would come back as a ghost just to settle a contract?





	1. Chapter 1

Six months at Cooper and Leatherbarrow Insurance and Belle was still considered the ‘new girl’. Turnover was low at the company mainly because they didn’t just mouth empty platitudes and buzzwords; they actually did care about their employees. It wasn’t her dream job by a long stretch, but after three months unemployed she finally accepted that the one career path her degree in Library Sciences qualified her for wasn’t hiring and looked for something that would pay the bills. It was a pretty good job, but there were days were Belle doubted her sanity.

And today was one of those days.

Belle frowned at the document that had been waiting in her little used In-tray, partly because of the paper nature of said document and partly because of the strange wording of the highlighted clause. The fact that it was paper meant that this policy had to be at least thirty years old. Flipping to the signatures paper she double check the date, yup 1981, how had this escaped the digital update? She was pretty certain the company had scanned everything a decade ago. This had to be a joke, hazing the new girl in the office, there was no way she was driving all the way to Maine for a joke; accounting wouldn’t reimburse her travel expenses if she fell for this.

She left her little cubicle and went in search of her supervisor. Oddly there were no expectant glances or smirks from her co-workers; they didn’t look like they were waiting to see how the joke would play out. She glanced at the ceiling and idly wondered if someone had hacked into the security feed.

Her supervisor, Jenny, was in the breakroom cussing the coffee maker into life.

“Come on you damn thing, give me my java!”

Belle leaned past her and flipped the switch to turn the machine on; Jenny was not at her best first thing in the morning. Belle waited until Jenny had taken her first gulp of scalding coffee before she asked; “Is this a joke?”

Jenny managed to take another swallow of coffee while speed reading the document Belle was waving at her.

“Joke no, fraudulent claim probably.”

She laughed at Belle raised eyebrows, “Yes, we really sold polices with that clause. Just take the trip to Maine, prove it’s a hoax and then it’s done. Eat some lobster while you’re there.”

Jenny’s attention was diverted to her ringing cell; she took the call and left Belle standing by the coffee machine feeling confused and more than a little annoyed.

“How the hell am I supposed to prove that a ghost is a fake?”

The coffee machine gurgled at her, which was not a helpful answer.

 

Finding the little town of Storybrooke Maine had been a challenge. The satnav had sent her past it three times, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that the zip code she’d entered even existed. In the end she’d pulled into a rest stop and purchased a map, and just to make sure she’d asked the clerk for directions as well. Judging by the fact he’d had to call his manager, who then phoned a friend Storybrooke didn’t get all that many visitors. She was beginning to wonder if the town even had a hotel, she’d not found any trace of one online, but normally when she did these jaunts she could rely on finding a Motel 6 nearby.

She’d finally arrived just after six in the evening; at least once she was in town getting lost wasn’t a problem. Storybrooke had one main street and the bed and breakfast was slap bang in the middle of it. Granny’s Dinner looked to be the physical and social centre of the town, there were certainly more people inside than Belle had seen on the streets. She drew curious glances as she dragged her case behind her, but nothing that made her feel uncomfortable. As small town welcomes went it was quite warm. The gum-chewing waitress pointed her in the direction of the owner, who asked if she minded eating before they arranged a room for her since it was their busy time. Belle’s rumbling stomach answered that question and she found herself a free seat at the bar.

The booths were full of families and couples enjoying their food. Belle suspected that she heard her client’s name several times, but since it was also a colour she couldn’t be sure that he was the subject of the whispers. Shaking the feeling that everyone was talking about her away as mild paranoid she perused the menu. A gruff bearded man who was drinking beer a few seats away leaned toward her and said; “I’d avoid the lasagne if I were you, sister.”

Belle frowned at the menu, the lasagne was listed as the house special, usually that’s what she picked when she was travelling, in her experience it was a safe bet.

“Used to be great, but the past few months, I don’t know, then again Gold never did like it.”

Now that was defiantly a reference to her client. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, perhaps the cook had been close to the deceased and was taking his death hard. Still she’d happily take local advice to avoid a bad meal.

“How’s the hamburger?”

“Now that is perfect, sister.”

Belle smiled a thank you and placed her order. The bearded man turned back to nursing his beer, which made Belle relax a little more. She’d done a few of these trips now, and had developed a pretty thick skin when it came to ignoring the sort of looks and whispers that a small town reserved for a stranger, but there was something odd about the vibe she was convinced was directed at her this evening. It wasn’t the usual hungry for gossip neighbours looking for tit-bits about their fellow townsfolk’s business; or confrontational family and friends ready to defend her client from the big, bad insurance company who just wouldn’t give the little guy a break; or even a sleazy bloke looking for a pick-up who didn’t know what a scumbag he was; any of those she could deal with. The sidelong glances she caught sight of held a sorrow that she couldn’t place, or understand. The fanciful aspiring writer in her soul wondered if she’d walked into a real ghost story and the town was offering her up to sate the unquiet spirit. She scribbled the idea down on a clean napkin, just in case it developed into a story.

By the time she’d finished a slice of cherry pie the dinner rush had finished and the owner ambled over to her.

“Shall we set you up with a room now Miss…”

“French, Belle French.”

The older woman offered her hand which Belle shook, “Mrs Lucas, but everyone in town calls me Granny. Come with me.”

Granny led Belle through the diner and into the B and B. She didn’t bother stopping at the desk to sign Belle in, just snagged a key from the hooks on the wall and ushered Belle up the stairs. Once she’d shown her the cosy, if dated, room Granny sniffed and said; “You’re here for Gold aren’t you?”

“Erm, I have business with the Gold estate, yes.”

Granny snorted; “Sweetie, this is a small town; everyone knows everyone else’s business. We all know that you are here because your insurance company owes Gold money. I always said that bugger wouldn’t stay dead if he was owed a dime.”

Belle laughed, she couldn’t help it; “So you are buying into this ghost story?”

Granny peered at her over her glasses; “The whole town turned out for his funeral, we all saw the old bastard buried. Gave us the shock of our lives when he strolled down Main Street the very next morning, bold as brass and dead as a door nail. You mark me, he is a ghost, sure as eggs is eggs. You’ll change your tune when you meet him come the morning.”

Tongue metaphorically in cheek Belle asked; “Shouldn’t I meet with him now, it being night and all?”

Granny glanced at the clock on the nightstand; “Only if you want to get on his bad side, it’s young Henry’s story time just now.”

Belle had meant her suggestion as a jest, but the answer was given with such earnest that she felt wrong-footed. Granny bid her good night and left Belle staring at the closed bedroom door wondering if the mysterious Mr Gold was actually telling the truth. Granny struck her as a no nonsense sort, not the kind of person to take part in a ghost hoax, intentionally or otherwise. Belle gave herself a shake. The drive must have tired her more than she thought; a long shower and a good night’s sleep then she’d be ready to deal with this crazy in the morning.

Her dreams were filled with ghosts. Peeves blew raspberries; Slimer gorged himself; Hamlet’s father and Banquo talked of sons and revenge; and Jacob Marley mourned the chains he had forged in life. When she woke it was Marley’s face that lingered with her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a version of the Dickens’ classic that portrayed Marley as Scottish with gold tooth of all things, where had her subconscious come up with that image?


	2. Chapter 2

Gold’s Antique and Pawnshop was simple enough to find sitting as it did a block along Main Street from Granny’s, but Belle almost missed the single storey building because she was distracted by the imposing edifice of the library on the opposite side of the street. It was a beautiful building, the sort of place she always pictured housing a library. Peeking through the soaped over windows she caught a glimpse of shelves still loaded with books. How long had this place been closed? Would the city council be willing to open it again if they had a librarian? Reluctantly Belle pulled herself away, no matter how much she wanted to put her degree to good use there was no point in scouting out libraries that were closed. Focusing on the job she was being paid to do she crossed the street and gave the dark haired man waiting outside of the pawnshop a professional smile.

“Mr Cassidy? I’m Belle French from Cooper and Leatherbarrow Insurance.”

He shook her offered hand; “Morning. You ready to meet Pops?”

“I must warn you Mr Cassidy that there are legal and financial penalties for making a false insurance claim.”

He chuckled; “As hard as it might be to believe that is not going to be a problem.”

His confidence in this spooky claim irritated her as much as the fact that he made no move to led them inside the shop. With a hint of a grin he nodded his head down Main Street. Belle followed the gesture and spotted a well-dress man with collar length hair striding towards them. The cane in his right hand didn’t appear to be slowing him down, but the way he leaned on it suggested that it was not a fashion accessory. Everyone stepped out of his way, in fact one man plastered himself against a shop front rather than get within two feet of the man she presumed to be Mr Gold. He didn’t look in the least bit offended by this strange behaviour, in fact he hardly seemed to notice it. Once he was closer Belle stepped forward to greet him, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her arm. She frowned at Mr Cassidy.

“Let him get inside. He’s not really with us until he’s opened up,” her raised eyebrows made him explain further, “Y’know some ghosts are stuck on a loop, repeating actions like a video recording? Well, Pops made this walk to work every day for years if the weather was fine. We think it’s a groove he’s stuck in.”

“What happens if it is raining?”

“He drives the Caddy.”

Belle just managed to stop her eyes from rolling at the idea of a ghost car. She decided that she would play along with this farce until she had at least spoken to the allegedly deceased Mr Gold. The man himself gave no sign of having noticed them as he reached the pawnshop door and pulled a set of keys from his coat pocket. It was quiet of the street and Belle was only a few feet from him, but she couldn’t hear the keys jingle; now she thought about it she hadn’t heard any sound that she could attribute to Mr Gold, not the tap of his cane, or footsteps, of the rustle of clothing. A tiny sliver of doubt crept into her mind, before she quashed it.

Keys in hand Mr Gold walked into the pawnshop through the still closed door. Belle blinked furiously; that could not have just happened. Beside her Mr Cassidy chuckled; “Yeah we all felt like that the first time. Go on I know you want too.”

Belle cautiously reached out and pressed her fingers to the glass of the door. It was smooth, a little cold, and very solid. With more confidence she moved closer and ran her hands over the door. Her senses reported that it was glass and wood, and very solid, but she couldn’t believe it.

“That’s some trick.”

Mr Cassidy gave her a weak smile that looked so sad Belle was moved to hug him. She stopped herself, sternly reminding her softer side that this man was trying to trick her and the company she worked for, although how they had persuaded so many people to take part in their scam was beyond her.

Belle drew herself up to her full height, (even with heels she didn’t reach Mr Cassidy’s shoulder), and let some of her frustration show in her voice as she said; “I don’t know why you are trying this scam, but I would like to get this over with as swiftly as possible.”

He opened his mouth as if he was about to argue with her, but then closed it and shrugged. He opened the door for her making a small chime sound as it swing open.

The shop was chillier than the weather outside. Standing behind the counter looking as solid as the door had felt was Mr Nicodemus Gold.

“Morning, son. Miss French?”

“Oh, you can talk now?”

“Yes, it appears once my walk to work is complete I am free to move and speak.”

A sudden rush of anger swept through Belle. This was ridiculous! Just because the man could pull off an impressive illusion he did not have the right to waste her time with this fraud. Her opinions must have been clear in her face and posture because Gold sagged a little and sighed; “She doesn’t believe, son.”

Belle stamped her foot; “Of course I don’t! It’s madness. You sir are no ghost!”

“I am sorry to do this Miss French.”

“Pops.”

The warning in his son’s voice was unmistakable, for the very first time since arriving in Storybrooke Belle felt threatened. Before she could back away the trinkets in the display cases began to rattle and Mr Gold was stood in front of her. She had no idea how he had moved so fast. He gave her a brief apologetic look and touched her arm just above her elbow.

Belle’s vision went grey around the edges; her left arm tingled with pins and needles and a vicelike pain engulfed her heart. Panic rose, but subsided as she realised that this wasn’t her pain she was experiencing. These were Mr Gold’s death throes. Second hand fear and regret swamped her, blending with the sorrow and pity she felt for the man who had died alone on the hardwood floor beneath her feet. His last thoughts were of his son and grandson.

Mr Gold released her arm and the rattling around them settled. Belle took one look at his tear streaked face before she screamed and bolted from the shop.  
Gold winced as the bell above the door clanged. He shot his cuffs and plucked a handkerchief from his pocket to dry his face.

“Well, she took that better than Emma or Dr Hopper.”

Neal rolled his eyes; “Seriously Pops? Did you have to be so heavy handed?”

Gold sniffed; “Bet you a dollar she believes now.”

Neal dragged his hand over his face with an exasperated groan; “Look I’ll go and calm her down, just try not to scare anyone else.”

Gold gave his son a butter wouldn’t melt look, which Neal didn’t buy for a second; “Fine, I’ll be good.”

His son accepted that was as good as he was going to get and rushed out of the shop after the terrified insurance investigator. Gold held himself still until the beleaguered bell fell silent, only then did he shudder. The few times he had shared the particulars of his last breathing moments had never felt so intense. He’d never sensed the other person’s emotions before, but from Miss French he had experienced sorrow and pity. He had enough problems dealing with his own repressed feelings, now he had the lingering sensation of Miss French’s reaction to his death bouncing around his incorporeal system. It was deeply unfair that spirits couldn’t imbibe; he could really do with a stiff scotch about now. 

He glanced at the clock; a smile grew on his face. Henry would be finished at the doctors soon and they could continue their game of Ticket to Ride.


	3. Chapter 3

Granny pointed Neal to the stairs that led to the B and B without even looking up from pouring Walter’s coffee. People running into the dinner in a state after leaving the pawnshop had been the norm for Storybrooke long before Pops had died.

It wasn’t until he reached the landing that Neal realised that he didn’t know which room Miss French was staying in. Luckily the open door and sound of hysterical packing gave him the information he needed. He knocked on the door frame and had to duck as a lethal high heel was flung at his head. The frantic insurance investigator leapt on to the bed and brandished the other shoe at him.

“Your father is dead!”

Neal rose slowly from the protective crouch he’d dropped into and nodded; “Yeah, that’s why you are here.”

“He’s stone dead, deceased, passed on, demised!”

Neal bit his lip and said; “Yep, not pining for the fjords either.”

Belle scowled at him; “You are mocking me!”

“Well you’re quoting Python.”

Belle sagged and dropped to sit on the bed, the springs groaned and complained at her sudden change in position.

“I’m sorry. Monty Python isn’t appropriate considering the situation.”

Neal shrugged; “You’ve had a shock, plus Pops did the same the first day he was back, just with more swearing.”

In fact Pops had cussed up a blue streak that would have put the Norwegian Parrot’s beautiful plumage to shame. Neal was still looking up some of the words Pops had used. Belle managed a weak chuckle; “At least I’ve stayed professional, sort of, but why did you call me? I work in insurance, surely you need a priest or something?”

“Mother Superior suggested that, but two days of Pops haunting the convent was enough to convince her it was a bad idea.”

Belle waved the shoe in her hand vaguely in the air; “But doesn’t he want to move on, or go to rest, or whatever it is ghosts are supposed to do?”

Neal cautiously edged further into the room and gestured at the bed asking her permission to sit. Belle dragged her haphazardly packed case to one side to make space for him.

“We don’t know how or why Pops is still here. To be honest we were sort of hoping that this had happened before and you could tell us more, I mean he can’t have been the only person to have taken out a policy with that clause.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean everyone in the office thought it was a scam. I’ll have to call my supervisor and try to find out,” Belle rolled her eyes, “Oh that is going to be a fun conversation. Ushering a restless spirit to peace wasn’t covered in training.”

Neal cocked his head to one side and gave her a strange look; “We don’t want to get rid of Pops,” He raked his hands through his hair, “Look I get that this is strange for you. Do you mind if we go downstairs while I give you the full story? I’m gonna need a drink to get through this.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up, “We can get hard liquor in a small-town dinner at ten in the morning?”

A cheeky grin lit up his face; “You can at Granny’s”

She hopped up from the bed and smoothed her hair back, “Good, cause you’re not the only one you could do with a drink.”

 

On the other side of town in the pink painted house that everyone still called Gold’s house, Henry Cassidy was trying to tell his mom not to fuss, but all that was coming out was gasping wheezes. Gold made Emma jump as he appeared out of thin air and handed Henry his inhaler.

“Damn it Gold! What have I told you about that?”

“Sorry Emma.” 

Gold didn’t sound in the least bit sorry, but Emma couldn’t find in her to be really annoyed since Henry was smiling around his inhaler.

“Take that properly, kid, four puffs.”

Emma didn’t even need to be looking at her son and his grandfather to know they were both rolling their eyes in exactly the same way. Henry was on puff three when Gold asked; “So what did the doctor say?”

She fussed with Henry’s pillows while she got herself composed, so when she spoke she sounded more confident than she felt; “Everything is pretty good. His peak flow is up a bit, so we’re keeping on with the current meds.”

Henry sucked in puff four and waved his inhaler at his mom. 

“Doctor Whale says I’m doing great for a fifty a day smoker.”

Emma winced. Whale’s attempt at humour had cheered up Henry, but for her it was just another reminder than her ten year old son was very sick. She felt the cold prickle of Gold’s hand inches away from her shoulder and sniffed back her tears to look at him as he said; “Go call that son of mine, lass. He had to race after the insurance woman. I might have spooked her a bit.”

Emma groaned, “Really? Why am I not surprised?”

Gold smirked at her, “Go, shoo! I’ve got to finishing kicking Henry’s arse at this game.”

Henry snorted, and Gold flinched at the rapid way Emma turned to check he was alright, “I’m kicking your arse Gramps.”

“Henry language! And you too Gold.”

Both men dropped their heads and mumbled sorry. Emma had to laugh at how alike they were.

“Okay, are you two going to be alright if I go and track your Dad down?”

“Yes Mom.”

“Yes Emma.”

There was that eye rolling again. Emma was about to launch into her pre-leaving the house checks when Gold waved a hand and stopped her.

“Emma. I have got this. Dying did not affect my mind. Mrs Potts will be here in half an hour. I know where all of the meds are, I know how to work the nebulizer and the oxygen. Henry and I will be fine, just like we always are.”

She threw her hands into the air; “Okay. Okay, I was going to tell you guys about the pop tarts in hidden in the house, but I guess you guys don’t need my help at all.”

She left them to get ready to go and help Neal, only a little surprised that they weren’t clamouring after her for the exact location of said treats. Gold and Henry waited until they heard Emma shout goodbye and the front door slam, then Gold vanished from sight and made the chocolate Pop Tart box he’d already found and stashed under one of Henry’s comic books dance across the room.

“Oh Gramps you got to teach me how to do that when I’m a ghost.”

Gold popped back it to sight, “Not for a long time yet, laddie.”

Henry shook his head, “Come on Gramps. I’m ten, not daft. I know I ain’t got long unless I get a transplant.”

The Pop Tarts dropped from Gold’s lax fingers as he drifted to sit next to Henry on the couch. 

“Hey, look at me. We are going to find what you need. You are going to live a long and happy life.”

Henry rocked towards him, but stopped just shy of touching his ghostly form. His grandson had got this move perfected so much faster than the adults who still accidently got to close and shivered at the feeling of the beyond.

“I’m not giving up Gramps, just planning for all eventualities, yeah?”

Gold had eschewed physical contact for the majority of his breathing life; now he was dead the lack of being able to offer a comforting hug was an acute pain in his withered soul.

“You are a brave and practical young man Henry Cassidy.”

“Damn right I am, and that’s why I am going to kick your arse at this game.”


	4. Chapter 4

Granny gave Belle an impressed once over when she walked into diner with Neal.

“Thought you’d be a runner, glad to see I’m wrong. What’s your poison?”

Belle followed Neal’s lead and ordered a beer. Granny brought them over to the booth they’d chosen, and dropped a box of tissues on the table as well. She patted Belle’s shoulder and smiled sadly; “Think you are going to need them.”

Neal sipped the foam off the top of his beer and took a deep breath; “Okay, so brief history of Nicodemus Gold, and for the love of God don’t call him by his first name, he loathes it.”

Belle nodded, she had wondered what sort of parents named a child Nicodemus. Given Mr Gold’s clear Scottish roots it couldn’t have been easy growing up with that name. 

Neal continued; “Pops doesn’t talk about his parents, or his childhood, but I do know that it was hard, and poor. Ask anyone in town what’s most important to Pops, and they will tell you money. He worked hard all his life and built up a fortune, but the time I was six he owned most of the town,” – Neal gave a wry chuckle, - “Wasn’t easy making friends as a kid when everyone in town owed your dad money.”

He ran his finger up and down the side of his glass, making the condensation squeak. Belle was good at reading people, and knew whatever was coming next was difficult for him to say.

“I ran away when I was sixteen, started going by my mother’s maiden name, couldn’t bear being in my Dad’s shadow anymore.”

Before Belle could ask where his mother was Neal said; “Mom divorced Pops when I was three, another thing I blamed him for. It wasn’t his fault, she ran off with a sailor.”

Neal shrugged, clearly no longer concerned with his absent mother; “I ended up in New York, met Emma and we had Henry. I’d not spoken to Pops in two years at that point. Emma’s an orphan, never knew her parents. When Henry was born she tried to talk me into getting in contact with Pops, to let him know he was a grandfather, but I was too proud, too stubborn, told her I didn’t want Henry anywhere near the corruption that surrounded Pops, that we didn’t need his dirty money.”

Belle was confused; “I don’t understand, what corruption?”

Neal sighed; “Y’know I said he’s landlord to most of the town?” – Belle nodded, - “Well he is a stickler for contracts, I mean they are water-tight, no wiggle room at all. He’d never grant extensions, took collateral the moment someone defaulted. Didn’t matter what hard luck someone had, there was no compassion from Mr Gold. I hated it, accused him of being a corrupt, heartless bastard, only interested in hoarding money for himself.”

He sat back and swiped his hand over his face with a sniff; “I was an idiot, of course, Pops was as far from corrupt as you could get.”

Granny approached the table with two glasses of whiskey, she didn’t say anything as she set them down, but she grasped Neal’s shoulder as she turned to leave; a kindly gesture from a someone who understood the pain Neal was in. Belle knew there was more to this story, and she couldn’t see a happy ending in Neal’s tear-filled eyes.

“I found out what a really bad landlord was like in New York. When Henry was born Emma and I were living in this shitty little studio apartment. Black mould in the bathroom, damp everywhere, cracked windows. Not a good place for an adult, really bad for a baby. Henry got sick more than most kids, colds, chest infections, but we thought we could manage, y’know?”

Neal picked up the whiskey glass, but didn’t take a drink, he stared into it as he cradled it between his hands.

“Henry was seven when the fire broke out. We were lucky, the three of us made it out, not everyone from our floor did, but the smoke damaged Henry’s lungs, and they were already weak.”

Now he took a sip and set the glass very carefully on the table. “Seeing Henry in hospital, barely breathing even with all the tubes and machines, I did the one thing I’d swore I would never do again.”

“You called your father.”

He nodded; “I’d not spoken to him in nearly a decade, but he listened to me babble as I tried to explain what had happened. Turned out that money isn’t the most important thing to Pops, it’s family. Took it in his stride that he was a grandfather and flew up to New York, and fixed everything.”

“I don’t recall it being quite that easy.”

Belle jumped at the sound of the voice, she’d not been aware of anyone approaching them. Neal glanced over his shoulder and then budge up to welcome the blond woman into their booth.

“Miss French, this is wife Emma.”

Belle shook her hand across the table, feeling awkward that she had a half-finished beer and a whiskey in front of her, it wasn’t the most professional image to be presenting. Emma noticed her discomfort and smiled; “Don’t worry about it. Gold told me he’d given you a fright. I threw a lamp at him first time, and once or twice since when he’s popped up out of thin air. It takes some getting used to, just like it took Gold and Neal a few blazing rows in the hospital parking lot before we all decided we would be moving to Storybrooke.”

From the way Neal squirmed those rows must have been blazing indeed. Belle had an idea of where this story was going and asked; “And Henry is better here?”

The moment the words left her mouth Belle realised that she’d made a mistake. Emma muffled a whimper and clutched Neal’s hand. Neal had to take a breath before he looked up and met Belle’s eye, fixing her with a heartbroken look that tore at her soul.

“Our son is ten years old, and without a transplant he won’t make it to eleven. We don’t want to know how to send Pops on into the Great Beyond, Miss French. We want to know how to make whatever happened to him happen again, because we’re can’t say goodbye to our son forever.”


	5. Chapter 5

Neal and Emma had offered Belle the use of the pawnshop as a base to work from. They had warned her that Gold would probably turn up again at some point in the afternoon. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing the ghost again, but she did feel the need to apologise for screaming at him during their first meeting. To be honest she wasn’t as embarrassed about her reaction since she’d talked to Emma, at least she’d not thrown things at him.

In the backroom there was a wide workbench which allowed her to spread out all of the paperwork relating to the Gold claim. The wheeled chair saved her from stretching to reach various piles of paper. She wondered if Gold had designed this set-up to facilitate the repairs he apparently did on the antiques in the shop. She had tried to stay focused solely on her work, but this room was an Aladdin’s cave of wonders and she’d not been able to resist a quick look around.

She’d read through everything twice and made a few notes about the language of the ghost clause, as far as she could see there was nothing mystical hidden within the wording. Belle snorted to herself; how the heck would she know if there was a resurrection spell woven into the clause? The closest thing she knew to magic came from Lovecraft or Harry Potter. She ruled the first out because unless Gold was hiding tentacles under his well-tailored suit he didn’t look like one of the Deep Ones, and the second because if JK had worked real magic into her stories of the Boy Who Lived then the Potterheads would have discovered it by now.

Belle groaned to herself, she clearly going mad looking for answers to this in literature, but where else was she supposed to find out what the hell was going on here?

She twirled a pen between her fingers and took a deep breath; she had to phone Jenny now. This call was probably going to have her employers questioning her sanity more than she already was; then again, she didn’t have to tell them that she’d met a ghost this morning, she was just requesting more information in order to do a through job. She punched Jenny direct line before she seconded guessed herself.

“Jenny Cooper.”

“Hey Jenny, it’s Belle. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. How’s Maine?”

“Cold, but pretty.”

“Sounds about right. How’s the case? Meet the headless horseman yet?”

Belle gave a laugh that didn’t sound too forced to her own ears; “I’m pretty certain his haunt is in Upstate New York, but I do want to ask about past claims on this clause.”

Jenny gave a thoughtful hum; “Belle do you think you’ve found a real ghost?”

Belle’s eyes widened as a stack of papers rose into the air and an invisible hand began flicking through the pages.

“No, it’s looking like a fraudulent claim.”

Gold materialized in front of her and raised an eyebrow at her. She frowned at him and continued her conversation with Jenny.

“Just due diligence. I want to make sure that I’ve followed the same procedures as previous investigators.”

“Okay that make sense, don’t want to drag this out with a counter-claim. It’ll take me a while to collect the relevant documents, but I should be able to email them to you by the end of the day.”

“Thank Jenny.”

“No problem, make sure you carry some garlic with you.”

“That’s for vampires. Bye Jenny.”

Gold was smirking as she ended the call and dropped her phone onto the desk.

“Salt.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Protection against ghosts, salt. Throw it at me and I disappear for a while, I also can’t cross a line of it,” – He jerked a thumb towards the kitchen alcove, - “There’s some in the cupboard next to the teabags if you feel the need.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” – She fiddled with her pen, - “I am sorry for screaming at you this morning.”

Gold gave an easy shrug; “No matter. I’ve had worse reactions.”

He placed the papers he’d been flipping through on the desk and settled himself in the chair opposite her. For a long moment he stared at her before finally saying; “You have questions, so do I. Quid pro quo?”

Belle had a rapid mental flash of Silence of the Lambs, but shook it away quickly. She didn’t feel threatened by Gold; he was as curious about his new state as she was. Her nod of agreement brought a slight smile to his lips.

“Ladies first.”

She bit her lip as she decided where to start; “What do you remember after your death?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry Miss French, from my perspective I died and then I walked to work the next morning. There was a week between those two events I’m told, but for me there was nothing in between, no tunnels of light, or grim reapers, no angels or devils, simply nothing.”

Belle opened her mouth to ask another question, but closed it again at Gold’s raised finger. He was serious about them taking turns with their questions. Neal had said he was a stickler for a contract.

“Has this happened before?”

“I’m not sure. There have been half a dozen claims on this particular clause, but they have all been stamped as fraudulent. I have my doubts about that now, so I’ve asked for the files to be sent, perhaps there will be some commonality that we can explore.”

Gold sighed, but didn’t look disappointed. He waited patiently as Belle decided what to ask next.

“Did you dabble with the occult, or magic?”

He chuckled; “Card tricks and some sleight of hand, but I doubt my skill at Find the Lady is the reason for my ghostly state.”

“No, probably not.”

Gold rubbed his fingers together and pointed at her phone; “Why did you lie to your employers?”

Belle rolled her shoulders; “I didn’t exactly lie, I’d only met you once at that point and I didn’t want to give an incomplete report.”

He smirked at her; “Lies by omission, Miss French.”

“Well, maybe, but I didn’t want my boss to think that I was hysterical. The company is convinced that this is a scam, so I’m going to need solid evidence before I change their minds, and that needs further research into the hows and whys.”

He looked impressed at her reasoning. He almost started to ask another question but bit it back and yielded the floor to her.

“Do you think it is the contract keeping you here? Neal did mention that you were very particular about them.”

Gold laughed bitterly, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes wandered around the room for a moment before turning back to her with a sad smile.

“No doubt he also told you that money is the only thing I care about. A million dollars is not to be sneezed at, but, and forgive me if this sounds like I’m bragging, but I am a very rich man Miss French. Well Neal and Henry are very rich men since my demise. Your company could offer ten times that amount, and I wouldn’t give a damn about it because no matter the sum, money can not legally buy new lungs for my grandson.”

Belle tilted her head to one side and Gold nodded.

“To answer your inevitable follow up question; yes, I considered the black market, but my son and grandson would never forgive me. I am content to continue in this ghostly purgatory, but I will not turn it into hell on earth by estranging my family.”

“Neal actually said that family is the most important thing in the world to you.”

His lip trembled, and she was sure she could see tears gathering in his eyes.

“My boy said that?”

“Yes, Mr Gold.”

She fussed with the papers on the desk, anything to keep her head down and give him a moment to collect himself. Gold wore his mask of indifference as easily as he wore his fine suit, but it was only a mask, one that had fallen away for the moment. She wondered how painful those ten years separated from his son had been for him, and how cold the face he must have presented to the town for them to still think of him as a beastly landlord.

Gold cleared his throat; “Do you drink tea Miss French?”

She looked up and found him with his mask back in place, mostly, there was something softer about his features, the habitual smirk was a real smile now.

“A cup of tea would be lovely.”

Gold rose to his feet and strolled across the shop to the kitchen. There was a limp to his gait as he favoured his right leg. Belle was about to ask what had happened to it when she changed her mind and asked instead; “Why do you think you became a ghost, Mr Gold?”

He turned on the ball of his foot and simply said; “Guilt.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What do you have to feel guilty for?”

Gold flickered from view and for an instant Belle thought the cup in his hand would fall to the floor. Watching the steaming cup of tea float towards her was unsettling, part of her was looking for the strings that her brain told her had to be there. The cup settled lightly on the table and Gold flickered back into view. His lips were quirked in a small smile.

“I believe it is my turn to ask a question Miss French.”

She took a sip of her tea and shrugged; “You set the precedent for answering follow up questions.”

“So, I did,” - He chuckled and settled himself in the chair opposite, - “Very well, in my lifetime I felt guilty for many things. I was a coward when it came to love, I clung so tight for fear of loosing those dear to me that I drove them away.”

He fidgeted with his cufflinks, unable to look her in the eye, he focused on the oval of gold as he continued.

“Neal was the centre of my world, when he ran away I thought I’d turn to dust. It might have been better if I had, instead I became cold and bitter. I took a perverse delight in spreading my misery as widely as I could. In less than a year I had acquired a new nickname here in town; the Beast of Storybrooke. I was a nightmare to my tenants, but the most despicable treatment I reserved for Jacob Mills.”

Belle’s brow creased, that name sounded familiar to her, but before she could ask for clarification Gold held up his hand to halt her.

“I’m sure you know the name, but please let me tell the story first. I’m not sure I can make it through this if you interrupt.”

She nodded and sat back. This was clearly difficult for him; her questions could wait.

“I want to make it clear that Jacob was a good man, a loving father and a devoted husband, he was even a good friend to the miserable excuse for a human being I became. His renown for fair and honest business dealings was as famous as my own reputation for the opposite was infamous. He had everything I had lost, and my envy was a dark demanding creature. I set out to take it all from him, starting with his wife.”

Gold raised his head and looked directly into Belle’s eyes. The heartbreak plain on his face made her gasp.

“I seduced Cora Mills and it was the worst thing I ever did.”

 

-x-x-x-

_Years ago in New York_

Gold stretched and reached for his cigarettes and lighter. Cora wrinkled her nose and slid out of the rumpled mess they had made of the hotel bed.

“You know I despise that habit.”

Gold’s only reply was to tilt his head back and blow a long plume of smoke at the ceiling. Cora huffed and stalked into the bathroom letting the door slam behind her.

The moonlight streaming in through the open drapes painted the room with silver that leached the colour from the expensive furnishings. Cora’s red dress made a dull puddle on the floor that put him in mind of an old bruise.

Three months they’d been screwing behind Jacob’s back, and the small thrill was long gone. Gold flicked the ash from his cigarette into the glass ashtray he was balancing on his bare leg and bunched the sheet over his crotch. He’d set out to destroy Jacob’s happiness because it made him sick, but it had turned out that the happiness was as much of a sham as his lust for Cora.

Cora whispered of a distant husband, an ungrateful child and a divorce on the horizon. Gold probably would have ending this affair before it began if it hadn’t been for her flattering interest in his way of doing business.

“Oh Nic, that’s wonderfully cutthroat. Jacob would never be so brave.”

“What a clever way to maximize profits, it’s simple genius Nic.”

“You know so much about contracts. I adore the way you bend words to your will.”

It was pathetic how he let her stroke his ego, but his business was the only thing he had left, the only thing he could take pleasure in no matter how twisted. Screwing Cora was a physical release, but it didn’t fill the empty hole in his chest.

He ground out the cigarette and stared unseeing at the pile her clothes made on the floor. He only blinked when she began to redress. He’d not even heard her leave the bathroom, that would annoy her, Cora did like to be the centre of attention.

“Why did you come tonight, Cora?”

She glanced at him in the mirror as she fixed her ear rings.

“To say goodbye.”

“Are we over?”

She turned in a rustle of fabric and gave him a pitying look.

“Of course, we are over, Nic. I wanted to know how to get ahead in business, and Jacob’s good-two-shoes methods are infuriating. But you, well you are the best at what you do, and I wanted the best teacher. The sex was a fun little bonus.”

Gold lit another cigarette, revelling in her disapproving tut.

“It would do you well to remember I am the best. Come after my business and I will destroy you and yours, dearie.”

Her sudden laugh grated on his nerves.

“Nic, you are far too much fun to have as a rival, why would I want to spoil that?”

She blew him a kiss and left him alone the room that still reeked of her perfume cigarettes and sex. It should have been the scent of shame, but Gold was to empty to care.

 

-x-x-x-

 

“I was a ruthless bastard in business, Miss French, but with what she learned from me Cora Mills became something much worse. She used our affair to cow Jacob into signing over controlling interest to her, claiming that if she had work to focus on she wouldn’t have time to stray again. Within six months the good name he had made was all but destroyed, but Mills Construction flourished. Low cost housing hit new lows with Cora in control, and thanks the lessons she had picked up from me the leases were designed to penalize tenants for everything.”

Belle shook her head; “You can’t blame yourself for the decisions Cora Mills made. You’re neither her conscious nor keeper.”

He gave her a wry smile; “I can and do. I thought nothing of Cora for years, not until the day Neal called out of the blue in tears that his son was in hospital. The death trap apartment they had rented was one of Cora’s. Without my influence, without my bitter business practices they would have had a safe home, instead of one that has laid a death sentence on my grandson.”

Silvery tears spilled down his face; “It has to be my guilty and shame keeping me here, because if it’s anything else the same thing might happen to Henry,” – his voice cracked, - “Henry doesn’t deserve to be trapped in this unchanging state, he should get to grow up and live a full happy life, or at very least move onto a better place.”

Belle couldn’t sit and watch him sob. She hurried from her seat and moved as close to him as she could without touching him. One hand rested along the back of his chair and the other lay next to his on the table. He turned his head towards her, if they had been able to touch he would have been resting on her shoulder. It wasn’t much, but her nearness appeared to bring him some comfort and he wept. Neither noticed the faint shimmer surrounding their touching fingertips.


End file.
